I roll my eyes, and he closes my visor.
He gets on top of the bike, and I follow along. He then turns backwards before putting on his helmet.
“You can hold on just below the seat, or you know, hug my rock-solid body for a safer trip.”
“I’d rather fall.” And I place my hands just below the seat, while he shakes his head, placing his helmet in the hottest way I’ve ever seen a human do it.
He turns on the bike and-Oh my god, what is this terrifying sound?!
My arms immediately fly to grab him by his waist, and then I hear his laughter. I push him away, and he opens his visor.
“At least I tried.”
I push him once again.
“I hate you.”
“You keep saying that, butsomehow, I don’t believe it.”
And he doesn’t give me a chance to talk further. I feel the bike moving underneath me, and my hands grip the bench even harder.
He drives slowly, I’m sure, for my sake. I hate to admit it, but riding a bike is actually pretty cool. And light even. My hair must look like a mess, but at least it’s not in my face. It’s so hot when you’re standing still in the middle of the street that when I feel the soft breeze in my arms, it’s actually relaxing. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still scared for my life, but this is yet another thing I was wrong about.
My stubbornness isn’t getting me anywhere. I thought that if I stuck by these rules and did things always within my comfort zone and my safe space, I knew everything that was coming my way, and there wouldn’t be any surprises. But my foundation and my beliefs are falling apart because I’m starting to realize I’ve been living the same life for the past eight years, and I’m always feeling the same feelings. Nothing new enters, nothing new gets out. And I’m starting to get sick of it.
He slows down near Mailview’s very own medium-sized river beach. The one with the jumping board on my list and the one that almost half the population in this town has dived from. It’s only open for the annual summer competition, and for the rest of the year, it’s forbidden even to climb a few steps, let alonedivefrom it. The rest of the beach is divided from VIP tents owned by Amanda’s family — only a few, it’s not like this is the biggest tourist spot on earth — a shared common area where normal people stay, and the beach diner.
Everything looks the same except for just outside the diner, where a white projector board is in front of the river, and blankets/towels and enormous pillows for support lay there waiting for somebody.
He stops the bike but doesn’t leave it, so I just lower my visor.
“Did you do this?”
“Oh, I did more than this, but that’s for later.”
I put the helmet again, and he looks back at me, that ever-grinning look on his face, and he replies with nothing but closing his visor and starting the bike.
25
Emotionally Unpacking My Trauma In a Castle
Jake leads me to the back door of the half castle, half house that’s located in front of my own house. He knocks, and an old man answers. Mr. Jones. Also known as the village’s not-so-nice old man. The typical old man who screams at you to get off his lawn. In fact, when our footballs or toys would go to the other side of his fence, he’d keep them, and it would take our parents to talk to him to get them back. He is about Miss Patty’s age, but unlike her, he doesn’t have much hair. But he is short like her.
We rarely see him, but when we do, he’s always growling. Rumors said that Miss Patty rejected him so many times that he just went from the good side to the swarthy side.
I think I can do something about it.
“Ah, Jake, you were fast. Come in.” He says nicely.
What the hell?
He points inside, and we follow. This house makes Jake’s look like garbage, and mine, like that landing in the Philippines. The floor is marble, and chandeliers are hung in every room I step foot into.What did this man do for a living?The whole visit, I’m trying not to be open-mouthed. After seeing the two living rooms, the games room, the five bathrooms, the ten rooms, and the enormous kitchen, the old man leads us to a tiny door upstairs. It’s the only thing in this house that looks old. It’s literally old, probably eaten wood.
“Stay as long as you like.”
“Uh, West, are you sure he’s not trying to lock us in and trying to get money from our parents?” Pause. “Or at least yours.” I add considering he’s rich and I’m…Lesserrich.
He shakes his head and leads us up the narrowest stairs, and when I think I’m done climbing them,morestairs appear.I really hope this is worth it. I go up the stairs for a while longer before Ifinallyreach a trapdoor. I push it, and I see the orange-blue sky.No way. I go up the trapdoor, and I’m inthetower that blocks the view of the perfect sunset from my attic.
